


Kaleidoscope

by The Addled Kokeshi Writer (The_Boy_of_the_Forest)



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Adult Content, Anal, Blood, F/M, Gore, Infidelity, Just slight cursing, M/M, Multi, Sex, Short, Violence, nothing too serious
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-13 02:53:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2134416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Boy_of_the_Forest/pseuds/The%20Addled%20Kokeshi%20Writer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just little snippets I randomly write down of WaySkin. There are no connections between the snippets unless stated in the author notes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hide-n-go-scream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out of all the things he could be doing, hiding from a killer was not one of those. Welcome to the life of Waylon Parks.

There were a million other things he'd rather be doing right at this  
very moment. Hiding beneath a rickety and disgusting wire-frame asylum  
bed with a small crawl-space because a misogynistic psychotic serial  
killer was looking for him was not one of those things. It was so far  
beyond the list of things he wanted to be doing right now.

"Where are you darling~? Come out, come out where ever you are! Come  
on out you little slut!!" the voice started out sweetly enough--could  
convince anyone else but Waylon Park, age 28, who was currently  
holding his breath and praying to any diety out there that he wouldn't  
be found--and then deepened at the end with a snarl.

"Will a song bring you out darling?" cooed out the smooth voice  
sweetly once more, the sound of dressy shoes clicking along the dirt  
and blood riddled floors, and Waylon could only feel a cold sweat grow  
on his grime covered skin.

" _When I was a boy my mother often said to me_  
Get married boy and see how happy you will be  
I have looked all over, but no girlie can I find,  
Who seems to be just like the little girl I have in mind,  
I will have to look around until the right one I have found~♪"

' _If you think that'll bring me out, you've got another thing coming_  
buddy.' thought Waylon to himself, still pressed tightly against the  
wall that kept him far from the edge--damn this darkness. He used his  
camcorder, swallowing as he risked looking through it for a moment,  
hearing the clicking of the shoes get louder.

' _Sweet Mary, mother of Jesus!_ ' he thought to himself, noting in the  
distance of the doorway stood the filthy dress-shoes and slacks of the  
psycho and he quickly shut covered the red light of his camcorder. So  
close, the man was too close.

"It was love at first sight darling, come on. Don't be afraid." the  
voice of the man sounded closer, and he could see the legs move into  
the room. Waylon continued where he was, swallowing thickly, feeling  
his lungs burn.

"Darling? Hmm, doesn't seem like you're here... Little shit." the  
dulcet tones turned sour as the footsteps receded and left the grimy  
blonde letting out a relieved sigh after a few moments, and he finally  
could relax, closing his eyes against the oppressive darkness for a  
moment before he opened them, lifting the camcorder up to check his  
surrounding, almost letting out a scream as he was met with the face  
of Eddie.

"Darling, I've found you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: I've never played the Outlast Game, nor it's DLCs, but I'm going to. I just know the basics of what's happening, so if they're OOC I'm sorry.
> 
> Disclairments: I do not own any of the characters in this story, nor do I own the song, or lyrics used in this.
> 
>  
> 
> Song lyrics:'I want a Girl (Just like Daddy had)' which is sung by Harry Von Tilzer, and the lyrics composed by William Dillon.


	2. Bride in Process

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being wed certainly was daunting. Esepcially having to stand for your dress to be fitted and stiched together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A super short random blurb of 'Bride!Waylon' who accepts his doom because--wow, he looks pretty fricken' great in the wedding dress.

Waylon doesn't really like dresses. Especially when he's the one in them. But he supposed he had to hand it to the mental patient--he had a way with fabrics. The illusion of curves where he lacked any, the way the skirts fell in waves from his hips, folded and pinched together to make draping waves, even with all the patched up material--it really was beautiful. The veil on his face obscured his vision slightly, but Waylon wasn't a liar, the dress that was pinned on his body was a work of art that would have--in another situation--been breath-taking and awe-inducing.

 

The form itself was a flattering hourglass shape, the top of it boned--he hoped, not with _real_ bones--and a sweatheart cut for the neckline, which was modest. His shoulders were a little too masculine of course, at least in his opinion, but it wasn't like he had a choice. The first accessory that had been crafted was a lovely and horrifyingly tight--chocker, the material made of the same rough cloth as the suits offered to the patients at the Asylum, and it had been cut prettily with holes that made it look more like delicate lace--the kind women dreamed of for their weddings. ' _Princess lace_ ' he'd been informed by his 'loving' groom. Princess lace with delicate curls and shapes that wrapped tight against Waylon's grimy skin.

The lower half of his dress had started out with a crudely shaped underskirt, which was layered by another less crude layer, and soon had layed with a nicer layer that had tiers of ruffles--mind you this was all from scraps!--and the layers grew until he was sure there were eight, and the eighth one was the one Eddie was sewing onto him at last. There were other scraps of cloth that rested around the 'sharply dressed' man, and Waylon curiously eyed them against his will--anything to get his mind off the madness.

"Gloves darling, I'm going to make you the prettiest gloves. You shouldn't be revealing so much skin--such lovely skin it is." came the sweet soft words that made him jerk a little as his hand was taken and kissed by coarse, dry lips. Relaxing minutely, Waylon decided he'd let the man rub his thumb over his knuckles--when a harsh grip pulled him down a little to meet angry eyes.

"The only one who should see that much skin is me **you minx** " growled out his groom, and Waylon was hard pressed not to react in fear and try to pull away, instead swallowing and trying to silently soothe the man, reaching his free hand to run the rough pads of his worn hands against the others' collar, brushing it down. That seemed to calm Eddie enough, his contorted and angry features twisting into an apologetic one.

"I'm sorry darling... I shouldn't have been so rough. Come, let me finish this skirt and we'll get right on your pretty gloves."

As Eddie set back to work, Waylon allowed himself to straighten up, eyes rolling upwards as he tried to just let his inhibitions go, a sigh escaping his lips. There wasn't much he could do, he'd tried to escape, and the wound to his ankle was festering something awful--Eddie had forgone the heels feeling ' _sorry_ ' that his precious bride had twisted it--so he was left to rest his weight on the other leg. The gestures of the man could have been confused for love, if only Gluskin weren't insane and Waylon weren't in this dress.

 

As it was, he wasn't really amused, trying not to shift and get himself jabbed roughly by a needle as the 'groom' continued his work, all while whistling eerily in their 'beautiful' home. Welcome to Mount Massive, when you check in, you'll never check out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't played the games, so I'm going based on what I've seen in fanarts and what I've read up on the games. This is just kind a little AU thingie--slightly, not by much.
> 
> Soon enough I'll get to watching/playing Outlast though. I promise.
> 
> A/N: Beta'd by the lovely Ladilol!


	3. Perfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quick little try at 'Eddie Gluskin'. If I succeeded, hurrah, if I failed, well poo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was just a quick little blurb attempt at an 'Eddie Gluskin' side of the story. You know, since the last two were Waylon's side.

It was painful for him. 

So very, very painful. 

His lovely wife had run away. 

The little _filthy_ whore.

How dare she leave him like that? Did she want a divorce?No- _no_ - **no**! Of course not. 'Till **death** do they part', and all that delightful flattery they had said in the church.

 

 _Oh_. Of course, his bride--the **bitch** \--was fretting over the fact they hadn't wed properly. Of _course_! 

' _I'm going to butcher the bitch, and then carve my love into ever inch of her skin. Her beautiful, filthy, whorish skin_ ' thought the man as he began to whistle, searching for his bride. She wasn't ready yet.

 

No, _no_ , **no**. She was far from ready for their actual wedding, but that was all right. Eddie understood very well how a woman worked. She just needed to be--' _Perfect_ '. He thought as he caught sight of a grime-covered man, with matted blonde hair and a horrified look on his face.

 

" **Darling**."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was extremely short. I'll try and maybe make the next one a little longer.


	4. The Groom, the Wife, and the Boss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy really he could kill that pathetic Whistleblower.
> 
> Setting: AU where everything is the same, except there's no demented morphogenic testing, and everyone's pretty normal--even for an asylum.

Waylon Park was two things: Human, and curious. Those were two things that one. Jeremy Blaire, could not have in his carefully crafted plans. Murkoff was anything but legal with a history of scams and charges that made their current location and privacy ideal. It was important for him to keep things under wraps.

 

The solution to this problem could be remedied, but there was just one. Small. Problem. Well no, it wasn't a small problem. In fact, it was pretty big and it's name was spelled as 'Eddie Gluskin'. He was a 46 year old serial killer who dressed--and Jeremy would always question how he procured the clothing--like he was straight out of one of those old black-and-white family shows the killer liked to watch so much. Now had the man just been a simple man, he'd have been fine, however he wasn't just that. He was a 6'7 man with strongly corded muscles along his body that sculpted him with a classic silhouette , the kind that gave him an elegant tapered look straight out from those Noir films.

 

No, this man was built and had the strength of a brute. Another thing to include in that list was his strange fixation with Waylon, who was the 'perfect bride' to the psychotic murderers' 'groom' character. This fixation unfortunately was displayed for all the patients and doctors to see as the nutcase stared at his 'wife' with a 'loving' gaze through the thick, reinforced pane of glass that separated them. It was nearly a constant that the man would Stalk Waylon, watching the engineer work and snarling at anyone that would come too close to 'his' bride.

 

The worst part about it all was that Waylon was too human and full of compassion to spurn the serial killers love. Instead, he'd have conversations with him while he worked.

 

"Hello Mr.Gluskin" he'd say kindly, fingers clicking away at his computer, (a laptop that seemed as ancient as the grounds they worked on, but was encrypted with the best protection available), eyes glancing up through his square-framed glasses, offering him a smile--nothing big, of course, just a tiny curl of the lips. Yet it seemed to light up the psycho's world.

 

"Dull and miserable without my darling." would be the reply Gluskin gave, getting an embarrassed chuckle as a response from the source of his affections. It made Jeremy sick--really, did the guy get off making the insane killer feel as though his cooed words were actually reciprocated?

 

"I guess you must have felt lonely, huh?" asked Waylon as he checked the security feeds from the camera, making sure the ground surveillance as well as the patient wards were all visible in the screens he studied. "How have your therapy sessions been? Did you make any progress?"

 

Again, it was as if the killers marriage proposal had been accepted, an innocent--(Hah! Only in his dreams!)--smile appearing along his lips, the scarred tissue that rested on the right-side of his face stretching painfully.

 

"Unfortunately darling, it's as if they want me to say I'm sicker, when I eel as though I've progressed!" complained the sociopath, frowning slightly and letting his eyes grow stormy. There was little doubt in Jeremy's mind as to what was running through the others sick, twisted mind. The man had a way with words, knew how to lay it on thick--probably why his prey never knew until the end just exactly what was coming at them--but he didn't even show an inch of remorse.

 

"I'm sorry to hear that Mr.Gluskin, maybe they know something you don't?" offered Waylon sweetly, finishing with the security feed, and switching to inspect the alarm systems that ran through the whole of the asylum, the clicking of the computer keys resuming. How that sound didn't seem to trigger Gluskin--as even a heavy breathing made the man prone to fits--Blaire didn't know.

 

"How could that possibly be, darling? Shouldn't a man know himself better than anyone else?" asked the killer, face pressed against the glass pane, an ardent and burning look in his gaze. Looking up, the engineer gave ann embarrassed start, shifting shyly in his seat.

 

"Well, they are trained to study the smallest details... Maybe it's a clue so small, even you don't know it exists? I go see a therapist for my head to be shrinked all the time. I, uh, suffer from anxiety. But, the doctor always seems to know when I'm having an attack before I do!" prattled on the 28 year old, looking even more embarrassed.

 

'You're a fucking rabbit' thought Jeremy with a sneer. How fitting the little shit they'd hire would be so jumpy that he would need a doctor himself.

 

"What? My darling needs to go to a therapist? Suffers from anxiety?" asked Gluskin sweetly, his eyes cleaming with the information revealed to him, already plotting. "That can't be. You are trying to make me feel better, that I'm not alone in this endeavor. It touches my heart! Truly you are the apple of my eye." spewed out hte 46-year old, watching his next victim's face light up prettily with blood.

 

"What? Oh, no I, uh, I'm being very honest Mr.Gluskin" stammered out Waylon, looking from the other to hide his red cheeks, clearing his throat. "But, the thing I'm trying to say is--those Doctors are studied people. They're prepared to look and read every detail of our actions. They the whole picture, when you can only see a part of it. So, even though you may feel they don't know what you feel--they probably have a better idea then even you." explained the younger man, trying to keep himself from being embarrassed anymore.

 

"Hmm, well, I suppose if my darling says to--then there should be no more doubt in me. I'm still positive that I'm right as rain though." conceded the man, watching as Waylon began to pack up, looking remorseful. "Leaving me with a broken heart yet again, love?" he asked, leaning a hand against the glass pane. The younger of the two seemed to contemplate his actions--he didn't want to reverse anything the psychotherapists had worked hard on--before shrugging on his laptop bag onto one shoulder.

 

"Don't say it like that Mr.Gluskin, I promise I'll be back again in half an hour, tops." promised Waylon, looking embarrassed. "I just have to check some wires on the above floors." he said, one hand lifting hesitantly for a moment before it was placed against the one on the glass. He tried to rein in his embarrassment, knowing that all his moves were being closely observed, and instead offered a small smile to the surprised looking man on the other side.

 

"Darling..." breathed out Eddie, watching Waylon with bright blue eyes. The engineer dropped his hand, offering a wave goodbye as he exited the room and out of Eddie's view from the 'recreation room'. Jeremy was hot on the IT males heels, glad to be leaving the male patient behind, watching the blonde before him carefully. Once they were above the ground, Jeremy couldn't help but show his disgust at the others' way of just playfully treating their sick patients like 'normal' people. This of course was ignored by the other, making the business man furious.

 

"Just what exactly were you thinking? You do realize that 'Gentleman' behind the glass pane that is triple-reinforced by bullet-proof sealing is a serial killer that killed about 12 women, correct?" asked Jeremy cooly, watching as the male before him stilled for a moment before a shrug was given.

 

"Every monster has dark secret... They're not just born, they're made." murmured Waylon, making the dark haired males teeth grit. Impossible, all the files on the patients were archived and locked in a filing cabinet that was only accessible by authorized personnel with the right credentials, and the digital ones were protected by a hight encrypted program. Thinking on it, there had been one breech in the files two months ago, when they had called the engineer before them to solicit his talents.

 

"Excuse me for having survival instincts, and a head on my shoulders. Regardless, you're acts could be considered triggering and not at all safe for any patient--had you realized that?" snapped Jeremy, watching as the other stood up and packed his tools, getting another shrug.

 

"I'm going to spend some time with Mr.Gluskin and the other patients before I head out." answered Waylon, turning his back on his boss, noticing his cellphone rang and grinning a little. He glanced over at the man, mouthing 'personal call' and beginning to walk away as he flipped his phone open.

 

"Hey Miles.." replied the younger man, as he vanished down the steps that lead him down to the recreational room, leaving Jeremy to stare hard at the area the IT had been before, cursing up a storm as he pitched a fit. Of. Fucking. Corse. It just had to be Miles 'motherfucking' Upshur, the nosiest asshole alive that had to be on the other end of the line. Which mean that Waylon Park had other motives being in his Asylum than just being an IT engineer.

 

The little shit was playing him,

 

He stormed down the stairs to tell the little trash-whore where he could shove his bugs, but stopped when he saw that said male was surrounded by some of the more notorious patients in the institute, beside Gluskin, who seemed to be quite content to be sitting 'next' to his darling. Said moron was listening to 'Trager' talk about his former 'glory' as a surgeon, watching him move his hands around, preening with every 'ooh' and 'aah' that Waylon bestowed upon him.

 

'I'm going to shoot you, and then I'm going to shoot Upshur' thought Jeremy darkly, watching as Gluskin looked over at him, his bright-blue eyes dark, an eerie 'charming' smile on his lips, and immediately Blaire called for more security.

 

"Keep an eye on Park, make sure that if anything goes down, that idiot gets' locked in there with those psychopaths, and for the love of fucking God, do your jobs and keep that little rat away from important files." he spat out quietly, already preparing his cellphone and dialing a number, sneering at the voice that answered.

 

"Miles Upshur, investigative reporter--"

 

Jeremy wished he could wring his neck at that very moment because Waylon Park was two things: human and curious. Too bad his husband had to be a serial killer who could probably kill him if he even so much as breathed wrong at Waylon faggot Park, and that alone was a threat to Jeremy Blaire and the Murkoff company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BONUS
> 
> Jeremy has a hate/hate with Miles that is so unbelievably gay in this AU, while Eddie knits socks for Waylon, and Waylon feels embarrassed his wife makes him wear them. Waylon comments about his two sons accidentally to Eddie and suddenly he's getting socks for them too.
> 
> The end.


	5. Run from me Darling (Part I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a meeting that hadn't been meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU where Waylon and Lisa accidentally stumble into a Bridal boutique and Eddie becomes obsessed with the 'bride'.
> 
> Warnings: Heavy implications of slash, obsessive behavior, pegging (on Lisa's part), and extramarital affairs.

_'Run from me darlin'_  
Run my good wife,  
Run from me darlin'  
You better run for you life.'

 

The radio--which looked like an old Gramophone--played soothingly in the small boutique--which held rows and rows of beautiful wedding dresses ranging from optic, near brilliant, pristine white to rich champagne, to bone like ivory that delicately rested in ruffles and layers. The small cramped register that stood near the front door was crowded with various nicknacks that ranged from delicate porcelain dolls that rested in feminine poses, to glass roses. The counter itself was worn down natural wood that gave the small shop a warm glow, the racks that held the dresses were about as white as the delicate garments themselves and the smell of mothballs was minimal but still lingered--and yet there was the soft musk of leather, and an undercurrent of spiciness from a smooth cologne that lingered here and there.

 

In the middle of the masses of white stood a large man--he probably stood at about 6'8, with broad shoulders that barely fit into the tight white button-up shirt that rested underneath a sharply pressed black vest that gave his figure a sharp cut. His form tapered at the waist, black slacks hugging his thick thighs well, and sharp shoes clicking against the ground as he hummed softly to the song, baby blue eyes staring at an unfinished dressed that rested on the furthest corner of his shop. Barely patched together, the dress looked to be a sorrowful sight, and the man was quick to give a small sigh as if that would make the material fix itself together.

 

*Ring*

 

The chime above the shops' entrance door rang and awoke the large man from his daze--the sound of a woman laughing and a man speaking softly reaching his ears.

 

"Waylon, come on! How many chances do we actually have at walking into a ' _bridal shop_ ' and enjoying it?" asked the woman, her silky brown hair wrapped into a messy side-bun, stray curls twirling over the expense of her honey-brown coloured skin. She had a full figure to her, with a wider bottom than what the tailor was used to--but even he had dresses that were made for such figures. Her height was an impressive 5'6 and she wore--much to the dark haired tailors _despair_ \--a pair of worn and beaten light blue jeans and a boat-neck orange shirt with 3/4 sleeves and beaten sneakers. 

 

"Lisa, come on, you know that this isn't like us." came the voice of the woman's partner, soft and shy. Something about that voice made the dress-makers' baby blues lock on instantly to the couple, ignoring the dulcet sounds of Claude Debussy's 'Claire De Lune', which rang softly along the small boutique.

 

This ' _Waylon_ ' man was a sight--a beautiful one! Slender build with shoulders that would look beautiful exposed in a teasing manner that only a strapless dress could produce. Yes, with a raised neckline and a low backless set, you would be able to see his innocuous figure. As if his sight had called the others' attention, Waylon was quick to raise his head, dark eyes--so dark that they seemed onyx--raised to meet the tailors own baby blues and the shorter man's expression changed from fond exasperation to one of sheepishness.

 

"Oh, uh, sorry sir, we didn't mean to--" began 'Waylon' his perfectly thin, yet invitingly rosy lips parted in an attempt at decorum, but he was interrupted by his partner who was a good few inches taller than him.

 

"Aha! Are you the owner of this shop?" asked ' _Lisa_ ' lovely, sweet, and energetic Lisa. The thing that stood between him and 'Waylon'.

 

"Ah, yes. I am--pardon my rudeness." began the tailor, his voice the perfect balance of sweet and enticing, only an octave or two higher than his normal voice, which rumbled from the center of his chest outward. He quickly ran leather covered palms down his vest, the fingerless gloves catching Waylon's attention, his dark eyes curious, and a bit weary. "I am Eddie Gluskin, maker of these bridal dresses, and you both are?" asked Eddie, who had at last given his name out to the pair, watching them still from where he stood before.

 

"Lisa Park, and this is my hubby Waylon." began the woman, full lips smiling in a friendly manner--soft and delicate as a woman should be, but still a little too forward for Gluskin's tastes. Still he bore with it, instead turning his gaze towards Waylon who reached a nervous hand up to tussle his silky black locks around in an attempt to feel at home in an atmosphere he wasn't used to.

 

' _Adorable_.' thought Eddie to himself as he waited for the man to speak, taking in his appearance. Waylon had to be of Asian descent, his near colourless skin was easily the most fetching feature on him, with dark almond shaped eyes that tilted downwards a bit at the ends--making him look a lost sweeter--and a slighter frame than most men Eddie had met in his workplace. After a noticeable pause, Waylon swallowed and gave a wary grin.

 

"Hello, it's nice to meet you Mister Gluskin." answered the smaller male, bowing slightly at the waist, before hesitantly reaching a hand out towards the dressmaker instead. Eddie could easily detect his hesitance to elicit a touch, and instead the larger of the two gave a slight bow as well, his gloved hand resting against his abdomen.

 

"The pleasure is all mine, how may I assist you both today?" asked Eddie as he turned his bright baby blue eyes towards Lisa, watching the woman.

 

"We wanted to see if there's maybe a dress out there for me." answered the woman casually, her eyes wandering aimlessly around the store, glancing from dress to dress in a curious and delighted manner, but never staying on one too long. It was almost as if the woman didn't want to find something, which was preposterous! Wedding dresses were things to be coveted and desired.

 

"I see, then perhaps you'd allow me to borrow your wife and fit her into a few models I would think make her feel as lovely as a pearl?" asked Eddie smoothly, watching Waylon for a moment, taking in his form--yes, a man he was indeed, but Eddie could make a dress cut for the smaller males' figure that would make any being impatient for the ' _honeymoon_ '. Looking up, the slighter of the two shrugged, looking sheepish.

 

"We're only browsing at the moment, I wouldn't want you to waste your time outfitting us just to not have us purchase anything..." began Waylon, dark eyes looking away nervously, palms working up and down at times against the sides of his legs and twitching at times. Eddie smiled minutely, blue eyes lighting up amused. So this one did work with his hands--but from his demeanor, it wasn't anything too strenuous in the physical sense.

 

"It wouldn't be a problem to me after all, you and your lovely wife-to-be are looking for the one dress that you'll start a new chapter of your life with." answered the tailor, watching as 'Lisa's' face lit up with joy. He allowed the couple to converse softly under their breath, watching as Waylon caved under his lovely fiancee's wiles.

 

"I guess if it wouldn't be too much trouble--" he began but Lisa was quick to give a happy grin. "We'd be honoured if you could help me." she answered for her husband. Eddie nodded and glanced at the both of them, giving out a slight breath as he began to move around his boutique to look for a dress that could bring out the quality of beauty most women wanted to get out of their dress. He could hear the couple behind him speaking softly--one more so than the other--and could hear 'Waylon' debate with his Lisa about the whole session.

 

"Lisa are you sure we should be bothering him with an outfitting? I mean, I have not even one clue about dresses--but all of these look way out of our price range and I don't exactly want him to think we're going to actually commit to a dress and spend his time on something won't get him any gain..."

 

' _What tenderness you have for me darling_ ' thought Eddie as he meandered around with precision, picking out three dresses he knew would satisfy the outgoing woman, skimming through his veils to see which ones would fit the shape of the cuts he'd chosen. 'What a shame you are not the one trying on these dresses--you would look like a dream.' the dressmaker hummed under his breath as Debussy's 'Clair de Lune' faded and up began 'Mr.Sandman' sung by the Puppini Sisters.

 

"You're worrying way to much Way, it's fine! If I do find a dress I like, I know dad'll help out." answered Lisa with a sweet grin, reaching a dainty hand to stroke along the contour of her fiancee's face, making the slighter male flush down to the pretty nape of his neck.

 

"Lisa... i just--" he murmured, reaching his hand up to stroke shyly at his wife's fingers, feeling his heart speed up a tiny bit as her pinky brushed against his lips. "Y--You're playing _unfair_..." he breathed out, eyes fluttering closed as Lisa leaned in to nibble on his lower-lip. Waylon nearly jumped out of his skin as he heard the sounds of a throat clearing behind them, ears feeling warm as he pulled away from his wife to look towards the tailor who looked amused on the surface--but somehow the technician saw a storm raging behind those strange baby-blue eyes.

 

"Ah, so-sorry" he began, but stiffened as the strange man--Mr.Gluskin--brushed passed him towards Lisa instead, looking at the woman with a 'sellers' smile.

 

"Shall we my dear? The fitting rooms are this way." answered Eddie as he focused solely on the woman before him. She was so forward, so shameless.

 

' _A filthy harlot, disgusting whore! She would show such behaviour around total strangers?!_ ' Eddie nearly frothed at the mouth at the sight of the couple, Indeed, Waylon looked delectable with the blush that graced his skin, and the way his dark lashes kissed his cheeks as he anticipated the woman's next move--but that was no excuse for said woman to be necking the poor man in front of strangers. ' _Lovely, pure Waylon. You couldn't fight her off, could you? Of course not, she's too aggressive. Such a lovely creature should be treated correctly._ ' Thought Eddie to himself, blue eyes narrowing a little for a moment as he set up the dresses in the fitting room Lisa would be using.

 

"Oh wow, those look incredible!" began Lisa as she glanced at the selection Eddie had made for her, right down to the veils and even gloves! "I can't thank you enough!" she gushed as her hands ran down one of the dresses' soft billowy material.

 

"Your smile alone is thank you enough." answered Eddie smoothly, voice pitched only an octave deeper because of his rage. Still, he couldn't exactly show his anger--he'd scare away the precious man he had standing outside of the fitting rooms, and he couldn't afford that. He needed to honey up the couple, make them want to purchase his dresses--make Waylon desire him.

 

"I shall be outside with your affianced, and we shall wait with bated breath for you to step out in your selection." he responded as Lisa hummed her agreement, already beginning to take off her shoes. Leaving the woman to her devices, he stepped out towards the main area of the boutique, looking around to spy Waylon's form, blue eyes zeroing in on the man.

 

His heart seized in delight as he caught long-fingered, but ill-groomed hands trailing along his unfinished dress, and the look of curiousity and maybe even--could it be so?--desire hidden in those lovely dark eyes.

 

"I ran out of inspiration along the way." he murmured, stepping up beside the smaller male and looking at the plain shape that sat on the mannequin, letting out a shallow breath. "It is difficult to maintain morale when one is to deal with only the most..." he reached a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

"I guess since your dresses are so, uh, mm..." Waylon looked embarrassed as he tried to find a way to describe the many dresses around them without seeming clueless. "Er, ruffle-y? Yeah, I'll go with that, since they seem like princess dresses. So I would assume that the woman you'd take on would be.... uhm... bridezillas--D-did I say something funny?" trailed off the slighter male, looking curiously over at Eddie, whose shoulders shook with his chuckles.

 

"Pardon? Oh, no, not at all it's just--" began to explain the dressmaker, looking amused. "The way you described my dresses was adorable. Why, I would dare say you've given me a boost in inspiration." reaching a large hand Eddie rested it on Waylon's shoulder momentarily, as he pretended to lean forward and fix one of the pins holding the mock dress together. "Yes, I've got the perfect image of what this dress should be and it's all--" Waylon looked startled at the act, and his eyes widened as they caught bright baby-blues looking at him, feeling a shiver race down his form uncomfortably, as well as a blush grace his features.

 

"Thanks to _you_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this wasn't meant to be a two part deal, but it appears it will be because I couldn't just speed through this at all. Anyways, I used Asian Way--Korean to be exact!--and I've got it in my head no matter what nationality Way has, he's still the bottom. Lisa loves her Way though, a lot and this AU will contain Lisa/Waylon for a good part of it and eventually slide to Eddie/Waylon.


	6. Big Bad Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He shouldn’t have strayed from the path he had been told to take, but then, Waylon had grown so tired of the routine roads, all boring and plain and simple, just like him. Lisa was such an angel to put up with him, but he wasn’t and now, tangled up in this mess he was in—well, Waylon had to admit he really didn’t care.
> 
> In which Waylon gives into a tall, dark, and handsome man’s come ons and winds giving in.

_._

I’ll take the wrong path  
I think I’ve gone a little of track  
And now there’s no way back  
You took all the apples that I had.  
But I heart you, and I wanna be your girl,  
I heart you, and I know you’ll rock my world.

\--Lana Del Rey “Big Bad Wolf”

\--

His life had become a daily routine before Waylon had even realized it. Two kids, and a happy wife making him strive for a better pay, a better home, a better everything. Yes, everything had to be better because, well, he couldn’t let his kids not have their school supplies, and rewards for being so studious. His wife needed all the best appliances for cooking and she had a great interest in owning a restaurant, so of course that required him having a better job so that she could leave hers and begin preparing for her dream.

 

Honestly, Waylon really didn’t mind this at all, working for Murkoff Corp. was a blessing in a way, sure, his boss was a grade A asshole, who happened to like to have violent hate sex with some local reporter that liked to bother Waylon whenever he was feeling particularly nasty about Blaire’s existence—Waylon had been nervous at first, but Miles had quickly proven to him that his asshole boss was actually weak to the reporters wiles; it was unfortunate that Waylon happened to have learned about their relationship through the horrible happenstance of his coming into the office to tell the man that he’d completed coding their firewall protection.

 

Still, life wasn’t bad. It was just, well, it was boring. Lisa was an angel, his kids were well-behaved, if a bit messy and airheaded, but it wasn’t like Waylon was any better. So the Korean-American had to wonder why he had started feeling so listless about it all. He just happened to be standing in the middle of a barbeque his wife had decided to make—even had invited Miles, and Blaire, which resulted in the man inviting his somewhat crazy friends Richard Trager, a surgeon that had a fantastic personality, and Dennis, a man of roughly 29 years that happened to be a jack-of-all-trades kind of guy. He’d been casually talking with Miles, who had been happily sipping at his beer, pointing out to the shorter male how lucky he was to have such a voluptuous—Lisa had the gall to wink at the handsome reporter, mocha coloured cheeks colouring a beautiful dusky rose, making the brunette’s green eyes crinkle at the corner and a roughish smirk appear—wife.

 

He’d chuckled and conceeded, though he pointed out to Miles that his shamelessness wasn’t exactly being forgiven considering his partner(?) was glaring blatantly at him with crystal blue eyes. Jeremy was exceptionally handsome too, in a sleazy kind of way, but then Miles had that kind of air to himself as well. The brunette rolled his eyes, muttering about what a pain in the ass—“Heh, get it, pain in the ass, cuz that’s tapping me!” he chortled unabashedly—his boyfriend was and made to settle the other down.

 

The thought struck sudden and viciously like a serpent and he was left reeling. His life was monotone. His friends and co-workers knew all about his personal life—something Blaire reveled in like a manic villain at times, such as when his kids are being brats, the devil—and his habits like clockwork. He’d get up, drink a mug of cream with a drop of coffee in it, then get dressed and take his usual way to work, which consisted of walking through the park that was two blocks away from the house to take the usual joggers path straight through to work—which was four blocks away considering the park took two blocksworth of space. He’d get to work, patch firewalls and code programs tirelessly for 8 hours then walk back home to his home where Lisa waited to tell him about how her search for an affordable space for a restaurant went—“Not too easy babe, but I’ll find that perfect spot, you’ll see” she would promise him with a breathtakingly sensual smile.

 

His two sons would then spin him a riveting tale about how they took on their bullies—boys, they like to take on the world, he swears to himself mentally with a tired fondness—and that they weren’t scared about things like peer-pressure because they actually liked being themselves and what lessons they’d learn. Lisa would then wrestle all three of her men to get them all rounded at the table instead of in front of the t.v. scolding him the hardest for being such a whiner about missing some ‘dumb boys soap!’ to which Jacob, and Damien would giggle to loudly and eat their food to hide their smiles. Waylon would continue to whine, naturally, foot prodding at Lisa’s thick hard calf daintily, trailing up and down as soon as the woman’s eyes locked with his—hers a lovely hazel-nut colour that flattered the copper shine of her brownish-red curls.

 

This too was routine. The subtle signs they signaled their arousal to each other. After dinner, he’d take the boys to brush their teeth, and then settle them in, long bony fingers brushing his sons thick yet wispy dark hair back, smiling down at them gently, soft thin dusky lips pressing against their foreheads in a good night kiss. Once that was done, he’d make the quite trek to his room and lock the door quietly, dark—near black—coloured eyes resting on the beautiful full curves of Lisa’s body, breasts heavy with perky rose nipples, a supple stomach that he loved to worship gently, and wide hips that were great to hold as he slipped into the wet and lush folds of her entrance. Her ass and thighs were just as plush—inviting him to sink his fingers into the woman’s soft rounded edges.

 

Their love-making was gentle, full of exploration and adoration as it always was, and that was the problem.

 

He’d been sitting at the park for nearly an hour now, looking up at the darkening sky, his dark hair tied back casually into a small pony-tail at the base of his neck, square-framed glasses resting on the bridge of his button nose, which was rosy along with his rounded soft cheeks from the cold. Waylon sometimes wanted to curse his skin for being so transparently white, this being one of them. It wasn’t particularly chilly this evening, but even the softest touch of cool wind made his blood rush to the surface to warm him up. Looking at his phone, he sighed softly. The man had decided to call Lisa earlier, telling her he’d be late in coming home—wanting to explore the park a bit and clear his mind from the muddled mess it had been these past couple of weeks.

 

She’d been so understanding, Waylon was loathe to even speak about his listless feelings.

 

So now here he was, in the heart of the park next to his house, surrounded by six paths, four of the standard roads that let out of the park from the north, south, east and west, and two paths that circled around the northern part of the park—which had a small lake that reflected the lights of the buildings from across the wall, looking beautiful and romantic.—and one that explored the Southern part of the park—this one was usually emptier around the evening because of all the trees that covered the path, making it more private and away from the view of the city.

 

Standing up with a huff, Waylon pulled his thin grey sweater close to himself, jean-clad legs shuffling a bit and worn vans crunching against the dirt road of the southern trail. He walked into the enclosed road, the smell of leafy foliage hitting his nose, along with the coolness of the water in them. It refreshed his system and woke him a little, hands slipping into his pockets as he look in the random bloom of colours that the trees offered him. The Korean didn’t notice another figure ahead—broad shouldered with a tapered waist that made the man in front of him look like one of those magazine models—sitting on one of the stone benches that rested along the trail, dressed in a pair of dark, tight dress-pants and a white button-up shirt, which had the first four undone, showing his collar and chest in a delicious ‘v’ shape.

 

However he did trip over the man’s impressively muscled legs, letting out a sharp swear as he landed on his knees in the dirt.

 

“Oh goodness, I’m so sorry” began the alarmingly large man as he stood, towering over Waylon like a beast would its prey. The Korean looked dumbfounded at the heavy boots that rested infront of him before slowly trailing up the strangers legs—holy fuck, those legs were built like a bulls—up a slender, yet strong looking waist—and damn he was packing—towards a barrel-chest that looked comfortably tough, and broad shoulders.

 

The biggest—best part, who the hell made this man, he was gorgeous!—aspect that caught Waylon’s attention was the man’s face. He had a chiseled jaw, classically handsome full lips, good nose, sharp cheek-bones, bedroom eyes that were so much more beautiful a blue than Blaires, and dark hair that was sheered off at the sides and the length that was left, slicked back by gel. All in all, this man looked like an Adonis, and Way was pretty sure he was done-for if this man decided he wanted to deck him, by the looks of the one tree-trunk arm and gloved hand that was being held out to him.

 

“Uhm…” was all the shorter males’ brain could come up with. Brilliant really, because he was pretty sure the other thing his mouth could have spat out would be “Please be gentle with me”, in a breathless voice that would surely clue in anyone as to what he thought of the stranger.

 

“Are you alright darling? I didn’t mean to trip you. Usually, this time of the night, there’s no one trekking, so I assumed my legs out would be fine.” Explained the stranger, lips quirked up one side in a sheepish smile.

 

“Uh, yeah, no, yeah usually it’s empty here, I—“ he fumbled, reaching out one of his hands to grip at the offered one, feeling a sense of vertigo as he was hefted up easily. “Holy shit, uh, I was just…hi.” He trailed off, cheeks red, eyes wide.

 

“Heh, I see. Well, I’m glad you’re not too hurt. It’d be a real shame.” Replied the man, bending a bit to pat at the knees of Waylon’s pants, making the smaller male fumble some more, hands quickly replacing the other man’s own at patting away the dirt.

 

“You know, darling, perhaps keeping your eyes forward would be a more prudent course of action. I mean, for the rest of the trip.” He gave another half-smile to Waylon, who felt his heart sutter.

 

‘ _Oh_ ’ he thought, feeling a pleasing buzz course through him as this complete and total stranger calling him darling, like they were well acquainted, ‘ _He has dimples_.’

 

“Uhm, yeah, sorry I was just, thinking. See I’ve—“ he began, trying to straighten himself out—he was pretty sure Miles would say something smart about that sentence, hell Lisa would up the ante and straight up decimate him because everyone and their mom knew Waylon was bisexual to the maximum and could get weak-kneed for a man just as easily as he could for a woman.

 

“Oh, a deep-thinker are we? I’m certain whatever it was, must have been unbearably important.” Answered the man with a chuckle, holding his hand out towards Waylon once more.

 

“Edward Gluskin, most friends call me Eddie, or at least they would if I had any friends.”

 

‘ _I would be your sex-friend in a heart-beat---HOLY **SHIT** WAYLON ZU HANG PARK_ ’ he tried to collect his thoughts, cheeks reddening as he let out a weak laugh at the strangers—Eddie’s—attempt at a joke.

 

“I’m Waylon Park.” He replied back, swallowing as he shook the other mans’ hand in a friendly manner. Once the other man let go, the smaller male slipped his hands casually into his jeans, trying to make himself look as comfortable as possible.

 

“Waylon, that sound like a fine name. So, tell me my dear, what was weighing so heavily on your mind that you would look your focus so completely? You don’t have to tell me of course, I’m merely making small talk. You can tell me whatever you will, and I’ll settle for it as being the truth just as easily.” Eddie sat on the bench once more, looking so comfortable in his big body and Waylon couldn’t help but notice his cologne lingered in the air like a beacon, a sort of ‘come hither’ call card for those who were lucky enough to get near.

 

He supposed it wouldn’t hurt to talk to a stranger about how stagnant he felt he had become, after all, it wasn’t like he’d see the man again—he was sure there were way too many people in the bustling city of Seattle to really bump into the same person twice. So slowly, he took the empty space furthest from the others’ casual and sensual recline, looking smaller than when he was standing.

 

“Well, this is going to sound stupid…” he began, eyes cast downwards, thick dark lashes creating a filmy smear against his rosy cheeks as he tried to collect his thoughts. Should he really talk to this charming stranger? He didn’t seem like bad company, and he was more than respectful, keeping his space between them more than comfortably lofty.

 

“I was… thinking about my life. Like how… routine it’s become.” He murmured the last part eyes opening and staring at the bushes across from the bench, looking full and happy, and green and leafy. Normal, like Waylon’s life way, yet content in a way the man wasn’t.

 

“Oh? Most people like the comforts of routine.” Came the soft, almost smoky baritone of the man beside him, a deep hum rumbling from his big chest in amusement.

 

“But what about the routine has you thinking so hard?” he asked, light and casual, not at all forceful, and Waylon appreciated that. It was usually hard for the Asian man to speak his mind at times, and with how tight-knit his world had become, he feared the judgement that would inevitably come from his words, and thoughts. The weight of it all making his mouth open up before he could even help himself.

 

“I feel like my life is at a standstill, and I’m about to lose it. Work is boring, my home life is boring, even—“

 

Waylon felt the tips of his ear redden, hand slapping over his mouth at the sentence, looking over shakily at the man beside him, whose lips curled into a pleasant and nonchalant smile, crystal like eyes studying the smaller man beside himself.

 

“Even…?” he offered momentarily, before waving a fingerless-gloved hand Waylon’s way with another smoky chuckle that made the Koreans toes curl in his worn sneaker.

 

‘ _Wow, I listen to that voice all night._ ’ Was the thought that slipped unbidden into the man’s head against his will.

 

“I see. So you want a bit of change is all, correct? Take the scenic route, over the usual quick one.” Murmured Eddie, head tilted back slightly to look at the underbrush of the treetops, the evening sky darkening slowly, peeks of reds and dark violet slipping between the rustling leaves. His strong, thick legs were crossed elegantly, and his arms rested casually on the top of the bench, making the man look big. Like a panther lazing around in the wait for its prey.

 

“Y-yeah, that sounds about right. I just… I want something different. Not like, I want it to be a permanent different, just a one time deal of adventure or something. Just one day of something new.” Explained Waylon sighing, his own legs crossed at the ankles, hands holding at his stomach loosely.

 

“Mm, you know, this reminds me of the story of little red riding hood.” Began the man, lips curled up into a smirk of sorts, something dark and promising—the smaller man shivered slightly, stuttering out a soft ‘Oh?’ in response to the others’ words.

 

“Yes, about her straying from the right path her good old mumsy had told her to stick to.”

 

There was a shift in the older mans position, something that made the comfortable space between both of them smaller, almost nonexistent—one strong arm resting on the benchtop that rested behind Korean’s thin shoulders, and the heat he radiated was almost too stuffy—almost.

 

“The big bad wolf following her, the naughty girl. She knew she shouldn’t speak with strangers, and listened to that cunning wolf. Why, I dare say, it was because the sweet dearie spoke so earnestly to him that he was tempted with the idea of two meals at once.”

 

Eddie’s smirk grew more, feeling Waylon’s form stiffen, but not pull away from their closeness. Good, the man couldn’t help but appreciate the subtle beauty in the smaller males’ figure. Thin shoulders and arms, with bony fingers that rested daintily wherever they lay, and pale skin that was so translucent, the man could see every delicious vein that flushed beneath it. It made the larger man lick his lips at the thought of sinking his teeth into those very arteries.

 

“You shouldn’t be out in the woods at night you know darling, that’s when the big bad wolf comes out for meals.”

 

Waylon listened, feeling another shiver course through him, warmth pooling in his stomach at the way the other was speaking to him. Was he talking about himself? Because the Korean man was pretty sure he had been a goner from the moment he’d bumped into this wet dream of a stranger. It was really shitty of him, to feel this attracted to a perfect stranger yet—

 

“Are you one of those wolves your talking about?” asked Waylon almost breathlessly, the words out of his lips before he could reign them in. The resounding chuckle that left the other man’s lips confirmed his question, and the smaller male could feel his fingers dig into the material of his shirt in anticipation as rough fingers trailed up and down his shoulders in a ghostly manner.

 

“That’s a strange question darling, shouldn’t you be trying instead to make your way ahead. After all, if I was one of those wolves—I’m not admitting anything yet—then wouldn’t that mean that I’ve been lulling you into a false sense of security for a good meal?” offered Eddie, fingers curling around the thin shoulder they’d been teasing and slowly tugging the other forward, making his ‘meal’ let out a small breath.

 

“I mean, you’re saying it yourself, you haven’t admitted to anything yet—“ stammered out Way as he was dragged closer, his chest bumping against the other man’s side deliciously. Wow, ok, this was definitely a pleasant kind of different, and wow, Waylon was so not ready for how easily he could melt against a total stranger and a man just as easily as he could against the softness of his wife.

 

“And if I was? Would you run away? Or would you let me lift your little red skirt to eat you up?”

 

The question drove the brunette to ruin—he could swear he swooned, which meant it was a good thing he was on the bench and not standing—this man was dangerous in a completely different way. An exciting and dark way, and oh god, it didn’t bother him at all that he’d just been feminized in a sentence, so that spoke volumes about how this whole thing was turning out to be.

 

“I mean, hypothetically—“ whispered out Waylon, hands pressing against the man’s chest, making the most _pathetic_ effort to push away, his own rising up and down in stutters. “I know you’ll probably leave me here in the dirt and all that—“

 

_God_ , the way that big hand felt going up and down was making it pretty hard to even spill out a thought. He was done for, he was about to climb this man like a tree and sit himself pretty on this complete strangers lap.

 

“I hope you’re hungry and ready for seconds, thirds, and fourths.”

 

He wanted to have this stranger rock his world, and boy, oh boy, would that be exactly the plan.

 

“ _Darling_.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I’m so sorry about the super long wait for anything remotely like an update for this mess because, wow. So I don’t have a laptop—probably won’t for a while since I’m trying to save up for a car. I’m going to power through work for this, but as soon as I have my car, I’m definitely getting myself a laptop ASAP. I still haven’t lost the passion for this pairing, oh no.
> 
> But yeah, I’ve got a bunch of ideas, and I am indeed continuing on with that one chapter about the Bridal Shop Eddie, because I’m so down for this creepy factor. But I decided to spit out something really quick.
> 
> Whether or not I decide to do some dirty deeds done dirt cheap and continue this with a sex scene, I have no idea. It hasn’t been proofread and I’ll probably go back and edit this as soon as I can, but I wanted to post something for those who have been waiting for this piece of crap to update. I’m so sorry if it seems disjointed, I just wanted to crank something out fast.
> 
> Also, this was typed on a tablet—with a keyboard of course, touchscreens are shit man.
> 
> Anyways, I’ll be trying to update this as soon as I can! I promise I won’t let my Wayskin/Weddie/EdWay die out!
> 
> I’ll probably even do some Jeremy/Miles, Miles/Lisa, Eddie/Miles/Way, Lisa/Way and such for this! Stick around for updates ok! Thanks Everyone!


	7. Carnival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on the song 'Carnival' by Natalie Merchant. Inside the Asylum, Walrider!Miles deals with Jeremy Blaire, as well as the fact he's going to die along with this asshole in this fucking dump. It's not romantic, and this asshat is the worst human being ever, but it's better than being alone. Until Miles decides it's not. He's not going to die, and he's going to survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so originally, this was just going to be a hateful oneshot about Walrider!Miles dealing with a dying Jeremy Blaire, and that was that. In the beginning, it was, yet somehow it turned out to be more of a 'to be continued' one-shot than I thought! So, here's part one of whatever. Whether or not I continue it depends on my steam and how I feel about it.
> 
> At the end of the chapter, I will have notes about what was included in the story, as well as why and how. Hopefully, everyone will enjoy this. Also, yay for inspiration on rainy days, and having the day off work!
> 
> If there's any mistakes, leave a comment with the correction. I've no beta or anything to proofread this, just myself. :D

 

 

Life really sucks when you know you should be dead—hell, there’d been a team dedicated to emptying their clips into you! Who the fuck survives that?—yet your body was still upright, your organs functioning and the only thing different—besides the incessant buzzing ringing all over your ears and beneath your skin—was the fact you could see a million things at once. Oh yeah, he was talking every angle kind of shit with the best high-tech night vision ever, considering he could see even the depilated parts that still held working cameras. It was trippy as fuck, and he wasn’t prepped for this.

 

Oh, you must be wondering who ‘he’ is right? Easy, Miles Upshur—reporter for the Daily Grind. At least, that’s who he’d been before he was overtaken by millions of nanites who whispered into his ears a million things he couldn’t understand and really didn’t give a fuck about anyways. Yeah, sure, it’d been a little intimidating at first, but he was used to being pushed around by assholes. Hell, his boss had been one of those.

 

Speaking of Assholes, Miles couldn’t believe how shitty his luck was these days. He’d just been minding his own business, wandering the halls of the slowly decaying Mount Massive Asylum when he’d heard the most pathetic sounding groans in the history of groans. More pathetic than the ones his sister, Melissa had during her pregnancy. He wondered how she was doing, was she ok? Probably, it wasn’t like the world was privy to his personal life—something he was grateful for. But he was digressing in a really stupid way.

 

Back to the groaning, it was pathetic and stupid and he had just gone to see if he could get rid of it—he’d grown accustomed to removing obstacles, and trying to keep any wandering variants from leaving the grounds, so blood wasn’t an issue—when low and behold, he found something he’d never thought he’d find.

 

In the middle of a still mostly-kept room laid the form of Jeremy Blaire on a couch stained with blood that was slowly oozing from a stab wound around his middle. How the fuck was the asshole even alive? Motherfucker was worse than a roach and then some. It seemed as though he’d heard the telltale sounds of the Walriders’ presence, because the man looked up with surprisingly clear eyes—blue, hatefully blue, they were colder than an icy lake—and immediately sat up, a smarmy smirk curling along his surprisingly nice mouth—not that Miles would ever tell that to his stupid face.

 

“Well, well, if it isn’t the new host.” Ground out Jeremy, shifting himself, hand pressed futilely against his abdomen in an attempt to keep it stifled as best as he could—which wasn’t much, considering Miles was almost 100% positive that a successfully stifled wound wouldn’t stain a couch so thoroughly through—and the man attempted to maintain an aloof appearance to himself. It was almost comical.

 

“You’re like a fucking roach.” Replied Miles, voice hoarse from disuse, which was a damn shame, he had a great voice. He made girls all over the world weak-kneed when he spoke. He knew this, he’d used it a million times to get into business establishments and stories out of them. There was a tinny sound to his voice, probably due to the nanites that rested within his body, keeping him alive against the laws of nature.

 

“Rude, I should be saying that to you, since last I’d heard, there’d been a whole squadron sent down to get rid of whatever the hell was in the labs below.” Snapped Jeremy back, and Miles could see the strain crystal clear on the assholes face. He was fighting it, the sluggishness inviting him to sleep—straight into death without remorse—and the feverish sweat along his forehead, normally slicked back hair loose in parts from it’s cage of gel. This dick was dying, and it was so sweet tasting on his lips that he could feel his own green eyes cloud over with a robotic orange glow instead.

 

‘ _Death comes to all!_ ’

‘ _We are the law that dictates this._ ’

‘ _We are the justice of death, he must succumb as all living things do_.’

‘ _Decay is but the nature of life._ ’

 

The whispers insisted in his mind, and he could feel himself moving closer to the helpless man that sat on the couch. Jeremy seemed to realize the shift immediately, because he sneered, blue eyes stormy and darkening in slight fear. He couldn’t defend himself, he was nearing the brink of death as it was, and the buzzing that was overtaking the room was almost despairingly lulling him to sleep.

 

“Don’t you fucking get near me, you shitstained reporter!” snapped out the man, hand fumbling beside himself to pull out a small but sharp knife. So that’s why he seemed to comfortable, he had a failsafe in case anyone had wanted to be stupid enough to get near him. Ironically, that was exactly how the man seemed, clean and inviting, until you got near enough for him to stab you. Like a rose with thorns, or a kitty with claws. Miles would go with the cat metaphor, roses were nice—he didn’t think Jeremy was nice.

 

But it had been enough to snap him from his blood-thirst, orange fading away to green as he stood only a few inches from the knife aimed at him.

 

“That little thing isn’t going to do crap to me.”

 

It seemed the dark haired male knew it, judging from the glower that crossed his features, he too knew it. But he didn’t lower the knife from its position—or maybe he couldn’t. It wouldn’t surprise Miles, seeing the blood staining his hand still wet, and dripping slower than usual.

 

“I don’t give a fuck, I’m not going to sit here and let your fucking shit-face get near me to murder me. I’ve got my wits about me Upshur, unlike the sick fucks rotting away here.” He spat out, seeming a little winded, eyes clouding over. The steam seem to run out of him, because the hand holding the knife shivered, and the grip faltered, fingers releasing the rubber grip and letting the small blade drop to the ground with a dull clatter.

 

“Shit…” he cursed, back sinking into the grimy, yet plush cushioned backing. A shiver wracked his form, pain shooting up through every nerve ending available and lighting him on fire, yet dousing him in water at the same time. Dying fucking sucked, and what pissed Blaire off the most was the fact that he’d let Waylon fucking Park go alive, out there into the world to deface his fucking company—and that wasn’t the worst part. He wasn’t the head of this, the real head of the corporation wouldn’t be pleased, and that meant he was fucked—if he could hold out and live.

 

It was looking very slim though.

 

“It isn’t very fun is it, dying here in your own mess.” Spoke Miles at last, looking down at the man before himself, hands tucked into his jeans—feeling the vibrations of the Walrider projects nanites walking all over himself. It would take some getting used to, but whatever, Miles was the kind of guy who rode out weird shit all the time. He’d had some pretty wild and strange girls in his bed, hell, even a few guys. This would just be another thing listed.

 

“Oh, no, please do tell me how not fun this could possibly be, please. The last thing I want to hear before I die is your warped as fuck voice and this God damned buzzing.” Spat out Jeremy from his spot on the couch, perfect pearly white teeth grit in pain. He seemed to fall on his uninjured side, face smashed against the smooth, black velvet material of the couches’ arm, his breathing becoming a little uneven as he shifted around trying to get comfortable.

 

Miles watched, eyes almost a tad bit amused, before he floated over soundlessly to the other male, using a bit of the swarm to maneuver the other male around a bit into a more comfortable position, and he could clearly see the coagulated blood that was sticking and soaking the couch in a sickly sweet mess. He felt around the dark haired males’ body for the wound, hearing an enraged and pained choked sound escape the others lips.

 

Slowly, the nanites crawled into the wound, tearing into the infected edges and insides, tearing sinew and skin over and over, making Jeremy writhe and bark out a loud ‘fuck’ in response to the burning sensation. He didn’t think he’d be killed this way—slowly torn from the inside out—but he supposed he deserved whatever hell the brunette before him deigned fit. He wasn’t in any position to fight back after all.

 

Several agonizing minutes had passed, almost an hour—by Miles’ internal clock—and the man on the couch was nothing more than a comatose ball of a man, curled into himself, teeth biting his lower lip raw, blue eyes clenched shut—tears clinging to surprisingly long dark lashes—his free hand fisted into his hair, and the other still clinging to his wound in fear. There was a lot more blood on his clothing and couch now, a pool of it on the floor—a lot more than most people should lose, so he was certain he’d probably killed the other or was close to—when the nanites seemed to have finished their job and pulled out of the wound lightening fast, their regenerative effect leaving it only a small fresh cute, the gaping skin around scarred up until only the center—where it was pink and tender.

 

“Huh, so I can heal others. That would’ve been great to know before. I could have saved myself all the trouble of searching out shit others knew.” Mused the brunette as he ruffled out his hair, the swarm of nanites that nested in it scattering around noisily at being disturbed.

 

Jeremy only faintly heard the other, still curled up on the couch, shuddering breaths leaving him. He’d been through hell and back in maybe 42 minutes or more, he wasn’t sure about time at the moment. The nightmarish feeling of being whispered about how he would be torn asunder, how he’d be decimated and destroyed, that there wouldn’t be a single particle left of him that wouldn’t feel their wrath, over and over. Death and rebirth, to suffer their rage. It had driven him to wanting death—to wanting it to get over with.

 

Yet, when they finally left him, he was finally left to silence, only hearing the buzzing of the swarm, but no more whispered promises. He could feel himself slipping out of consciousness and thought—Well, at least it’s finally fucking over.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

It had been eight hours since Jeremy had passed out, and Miles had kept himself entertained for the most part as by snooping around the office, blockading the doors heavily in case the variants that remind active in the asylum decided to be just as nosy. He’d swept through files, hacked the computer that still functioned on the backup generators that worked surprisingly well in certain areas of the asylum, and had even found some foodstuffs stocked away in a safe full of money.

 

He had checked on the sleeping figure on the couch in odd intervals, using the Walriders swarm to check vitals and breathing patterns. It seemed the other was just resting—probably recuperating from the bloodloss, and more than likely nightmarish whispers. It didn’t bother Miles too much, he didn’t have any other engagements, considering his current state, and honestly, he was going to get details out of this asshole if it was the last thing he did before tearing this place apart and leaving to search out for the rest of this company’s heads.

 

The slight creak and crackling sounds of tacky, caked blood cracking told him that his rescue project was waking up and a success. Turning around from where he sat playing with a set of cards he had found on top of the giant computer desk, he looked over at the wrecked sight of a once untouchable asshole, now reduced to nothing. A sick thrill twisted at his gut, and the swarm seemed to buzz in content at this. Great, he was exceeding their expectations perfectly.

 

“You awake now sleeping beauty?” he asked, allowing a lopsided smirk twist on his own face, looking like a normal person for the most part, except when his skin—once a nice light tanned olive colour—darkened with static, leaving him almost fuzzy. It had been unnerving at first, but hey, when life gives you lemons, and Miles was still hot, so there was at least that, he thought wisely.

 

“What the fuck...” croaked out Jeremy, throat dry, eyes swollen, and still looking like a beautiful mess, blood sticking to his clothing and nice white skin. Damn, if it weren’t for the fact he was such a douche canoe, Miles might have entertained himself the idea of taking that to bed, but alas, Jeremy Blaire was the reason he was stuck in an asylum that needed to be destroyed, and had been overtaken by a swarm of some kind of advanced mind controlling machinery that brought him back for the sole purpose of destroying shit, and why now he was tasking himself with the job of destroying everything tied to Murkoff.

 

“You’re alive, thanks to yours truly. I need details on what the fuck Murkoff Corporation has in store with this fucked up depravity of a project. I need locations, and for fucks sake, please tell me the morphogenic engine is not mass-produced.” He demanded immediately. Watching as the other man checked himself over, looking both impressed and disgusted. Yeah, Miles knew the feeling well, could he even fucking shower with these nanites? An experiment for when he was out of here.

 

“I...” Jeremy coughed dryly, standing up on shaky legs and making his way towards the opened safe to pull out a bottle of water and a pack of stale crackers—his stomach was killing him with hunger, and it wasn’t like he could expect himself to get out of this situation anyway, he may as well take it like a champ.

 

“Fu..ck, give me a seco..nd.” he answered hoarsely, uncapping the bottle of water and downing half of the bottle in one fell swoop. A small drop trailed down from the corner of his lips, and Miles watched with HD eyes on how it trailed down the grimy, yet delicious looking column of his neck and rested on a nice collar bone. Man, he had to admit, at least with this, he could hack any cameras he wanted and get all the details he needed for ground-breaking stories. Or, you know, some great angles on sex, if he could even engage in it. He refocused as the other man sat down, seeming to have quenched his thirst.

 

“Considering there’s little option at this point, I’ll give you all the filthy fucking details you need. Just make sure you record this and live to get rid of whatever the fuck this company if doing. I’d hate to be in your shoes, considering.” Explained Jeremy, pushing back the loose strands of inky hair that fell into his face, grimacing at the sensation of blood that stuck in one side of his head.

 

“Murkoff isn’t the only company in on this.” He noted an orange glow in Miles’ eyes—recording? So it meant the nanites could access information remotely, useful. “There are other branches, by different names. The only ones I know are Umbrella Corp., Within Unlimited, and Gershwalt.” He seemed to think hard on each one, like the information had only been given to him once, which Miles didn’t doubt was the reality of the situation.

 

“Umbrella Corporation[[1](http://residentevil.wikia.com/wiki/Umbrella_Corporation)] is better known for vaccines and advancements in the pharmaceuticals departments, and it’s main branch is located in New York, where exactly, I didn’t get the information for, I just knew they’re big.” He looked at Miles, watching the man cross his arms, his figure disappearing for a moment like a tv with bad reception. He was probably trying to dig around about the company.

 

“Yeah, I think I’ve heard of them... Some bigwig company that has promised to even find a cure for ‘Cancer’ and ‘Age’. People grow old you know, it ain’t like it would be good to live an eternity. This coming from someone who is alive even though they should be dead.” Miles, huffed out a breath, sitting with his legs crossed and tucked against himself. Great, a big Company with vaccines meant they’d be experimenting with a larger, less controlled crowd. If they get a success story that is, so he’d have to aim for them first.

 

“Within Unlimited[[2](http://theevilwithin.wikia.com/wiki/The_Evil_Within)] is a newer company, located in some dirt town called ‘Silent Hill[[3](http://silenthill.wikia.com/wiki/Silent_Hill_Wiki)]’, it used to be a mining town. Anyways, their skit is affordable housing. Nice cookie-cutter set up too. They like to get those struggling families that want a new start. It’s almost like a private community. It’s got mostly forested area surrounding it, no town for miles.”

 

Again Jeremy watched as Miles orange eyes glimmered brightly as he once again disappeared behind static. Once it seemed Miles got what he wanted, he settled once more.

 

“Shit... So, this one is more like, a mass experiment on a complete town?” Miles frowned, eyes taking in all the details of Jeremy, trying to settle his racing mind down. Well, that was another one where the shit would hit the ceiling real quick. From what he’d understood the Morphogenic Engine made people live out nightmares, turned their depravity into reality. A whole city, and with nothing but trees and mountains around it and one actual main road that led to any city remotely capable of helping—it was fenced in, from what he’d gathered from the news and sources he scoured through the computers’ system—meant that they were obviously going to be doused in the radiation and effects...

 

“Yeah, they’re aiming big. The other corporation, Geshwalt[[4](http://outlast.wikia.com/wiki/Outlast_2)], it doesn’t really specialize in anything. It’s an actual ‘charity’. They provide things for communities in need. In this case, from what I’d last gathered at the meeting that was held by the head of this all—Project Zero[[5](http://fatalframe.wikia.com/wiki/Fatal_Frame_Wiki)] is what they take as a name—they were especially sympathetic to cults. There was one newly rising cult, from what I’ve gathered, that they provided housing, food, and clothing for. Whether they actually planned to use the engine there, I have no idea. It was way above my paygrade.”

 

Jeremy looked conflicted at something, his eyes darting away momentarily, and his throat bobbing. Miles focused on the man, eyes drilling a hole into him.

 

“There’s something else, isn’t there.” He stated, already feeling frayed like a live wire when it was exposed. There so many big hands in this, and the head of it all posed a a good guy, much like Murkoff had, which meant he was dealing with some conniving liars.

 

 

“There’s... an orphanage that Project Zero owns, the Red Rose Orphanage[[6](http://ruleofrose.wikia.com/wiki/Rose_Garden_Orphanage)]. From what I gathered, and this is just from memory, so it could be faulty—This was a personal project of theirs, kids that have no folks and need some love and care get sent there. This place is in England, somewhere. I don’t know what they plan to do with those kids—but it was one of their earlier projects. I remember looking at the files casually and the dates on there had been at least a week or two old.”

 

“Fucking Christ, wait, you mean to tell me that for—going on—5 months now, these assholes could have been—no not could, have been experimenting with children and you didn’t think to tell the fucking authorities?” spat out Miles, the nanites around him buzzing loudly, feeding off his anger and making Jeremy flinch.

 

“You realize what the hell you’re saying? I’m already as good as dead, especially if they find out I’m alive—why the hell would I have spat out their project without any actual physical proof? I couldn’t have stolen those files if I had even wanted to considering they weren’t for my eyes to begin with!” he spat back just as heated, still pressed against the couch, wincing at the sensation of cold slimy blood squishing around his hand, as it created a depression on the material.

 

“Someone from Umbrella had been sent to me to specifically ask if I had seen any of the details within the files, and they had been clear about what the fuck would happen if I so even spoke about it to anyone. PZ has ears everywhere—including in here. I couldn’t have fucking said yes, and even if I had any proof, to actually tie it to them is impossible because as far as the world knows PZ isn’t an actual structure, it’s just two people who send out details through a million out people and where they get the backing, I’ve got no fucking clue.”

 

Miles simmered down as he listened to Jeremy speak, taking in the means nervous demeanour, yet agitated. He was speaking the truth, there wasn’t a single shift in his voice, or his nerve levels. Which meant that this whole project was suddenly a million times more tiring and a hell of a lot more trouble than he wanted. Yet even still, as the nanites whispered how useless it would be for him to even think about helping, he could feel himself begin to formulate a plan. He had to find the orphanage right away, there was no way he was going to let this go.

 

“You wanna live?” asked the brunette as he stood, eyes glowing and dimming at odd times, at the sound of something sliding open, he figure that all what he said had been copied down onto a disc, and the sound of the printer going off was making a paper copy of it. Just taking in the look in the others eyes made Jeremy wish he were dead instead. Grimacing, he shrugged.

 

“I don’t think I have much choice but to say yes. What do you have in store?” he offered finally after a few minutes of making a pained face at the idea of even helping out his would-be saviour.

 

“I’m going to take this bull by the horns and lay it out. But I’m going to need help. That’s where you’re coming in, along with your favourite escapee, Waylon Park.” Miles eyes shone brightly, probably locating the whereabouts of the man to pinpoint a trajectory. Jeremy could feel regret sink into his body at those words. Fucking perfect.

 

“I need as many hands as I can get into this shit, and you both are the perfect way to do it. You’re going to begin looking for the location of the orphanage. I’ll forge you some paperwork. As far as your owners know, you’re dead and about to blow out of existence.”

 

That had the dark haired man double taking. Blow out of existence?

 

“You’re going to blow the asylum?” he asked, looking flabbergasted.

 

“Yeah, miles wide and sky high. Which means there won’t be any survivors. Except for Waylon. He’s going to be our unfortunate scapegoat in all of this. As long as P.T.[[7](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Silent_Hills)]—“

 

“It’s Project Zero.”

 

“Whatever, as long as they focus on Waylon, we won’t have a hard time losing them off our tail and infiltrating their soft gooey insides.” Explained Miles, walking around the desk and picking up the phone that still seemed to function—or maybe the nanites made it work—and Jeremy could hear the telltale sounds of the dailtone.

 

“H-Hello?” asked the soft voice of one. Fucking. Waylon. Park.

 

“Listen, I’ve got a huge favour to ask—I know for a fact your wife and kids are safe, all things considered, it’s the least those shitholes at ViralLeaks could do—so I know you can very well help.” Began the Walrider host without stopping, and Jeremy couldn’t help but revel at the confused stutters on the other side.

 

“What—who, who are you?” asked the timid voice.

 

“Tch, the man whose car you stole. You didn’t even invite me to dinner or shit before taking my car.” Answered Miles, clicking his tongue.

 

“M-Miles? You’re... alive?”

 

“In some variation of the word. So are you going to help or not?” asked the journalist, motioning to Jeremy to get his ass up and begin collecting their paperwork, and the disc. The dark haired man glowered for a moment before doing so, still unsteady on his legs and feeling disgustingly damp on his pants—which stuck to his skin because of the dried blood.

 

“Miles, I, yes. I will help, but how? Where even?” asked the man nervously, and Miles could hear him shuffle about the hotel he was at for the moment. He knew he could sneak a peek and find the location, which was what he was going to do as soon as he was done talking.

 

“You stay where you’re at, we’ll meet you there—“

 

“Wait, who is we?”

 

“You’re gonna love this. It’s your friend, Jeremy Blaire! Say hi Blaire!” replied Miles flippantly, throwing the phone at the man for a moment as he focused on instead mapping out their course towards Waylon’s location. Jeremy merely grimaced at Miles, holding the phone away from himself, hearing the sharp intake of breath on the other side.

 

“How are you still alive?”

 

“He’s like a fucking roach! I’m telling you, the man didn’t even die when I used the Walrider to clean out his wound. He bled so much, shit I thought I killed him. Look at how lucky I was. Anyways, We’ll meet you there and catch you up on all about how this shit is happening. Toodles!”

 

Miles took the phone back carelessly, dropping the useless thing on the ground as he pulled out a relatively clean bag, Jeremy’s to be precise, and had said man tuck all the files and disc safely into it.

 

“How do you plan to even get us out of here, and over there? Last time I checked, while you can ‘fly’, I’m still a mortal man.” Spat out the dark haired male as he situated the bag across one shoulder.

 

“Easy, we’re stealing a car. There’s two F.B.I blackout cars we can nab, we’ll hit up the nearest car dumps and take one of those. They won’t be able to track what is considered garbage, and I think the Walriders’ swarm can handle a bit of mechanic work.” Answered Miles as he reached a hand upwards, snapping open the vent.

 

“What about blowing this place?” inquired Jeremy as he clambered onto the desk and reached up to heft himself in the vent, Miles floating into it easily and grinning cattily.

 

“I’ve got that covered. There are hundreds of computer and livewires here. There won’t be a single scrap I can’t demolish. Gotta feel sorry for the poor saps that will be taken out, but, oh well, c’est la vie.” Answered Miles as he crawling soundlessly behind Jeremy, who took measured motions—weary of the vents and how much support they still had.

 

“Don’t worry, I’m making out the place as we crawl, there aren’t any dips or weak spots—turn left.” Answered Miles, enjoying the facefull of ass he was getting—hey, it wasn’t like he’d decided to take the rear on purpose, so he could freely oogle as much as he’d like. Once again, thank you Walrider HD.

 

“Yes, well, forgive my scepticism on this situation completely. After all, the Walrider project being successful on you, leaves me to wonder what kind of a person you were to begin with.” Replied Jeremy, feeling a hand squeeze his calf

 

“Hey, Moody Blues[[8](http://jojo.wikia.com/wiki/Moody_Blues)], come back one vent opening and follow me, we’re getting close to our escape.” Murmured Miles, enjoying the hard muscle he felt for a moment before turning down the other vent opening he’d spoken about. He heard the other man shuffle behind him and hummed under his breath.

 

Several minutes of blindly following the insane journalist, and Jeremy was about to spit out a complaint about how he was going to strangle Miles—when he heard the other man give a triumphant ‘aha!’ and was almost blinded by the light that came when the vent before them was opened soundlessly.

 

“Holy shit—“ whispered Miles, almost in agony—it seemed he’d taken the burnt of the light—and Jeremy almost let loose a snarky chuckle, but rained it in. “Fuck, I forgot what daylight was even like—fuck, HD nightvision off. Fuck.” Miles floated out of the vent—having felt out for any person wandering the ground outside—and motioned for Jeremy to reach onto him. “There ain’t anybody here yet, but any sounds, and you’ll be fucked so you better hang onto me.” He explained, green eyes squinting at the other man.

 

Jeremy wasn’t going to die after coming this far, and so he let go of his dignity and wrapped both arms around the others’ neck, feeling the buzzing grow into loud whispers—he was going to die, they were going to get him and bleed him out, he was going to be broken by them—and the vibration almost made him let go. Lucky for him, Miles seemed to have read his mind and gripped his waist tighter.

 

“Hold on.” He whispered, hearing the loud sounds of shots being released inside and commands ringing out clearly. ‘There’s no one on the outside grounds’ they shouted. ‘But bloody hell if we will let them be anyway!’. It was almost amusing. Almost.

 

Miles carefully teetered their combined weight, losing altitude at times, but successfully made it towards one of the further F.B.I. cars. Unfortunately for them, it also happened to have the owner near it, hand holding his earpiece in place as he gave his commentary on the happenings. The journalist sucked in a curse and instead settled for quietly floating them behind the gated entrance of the asylum, laying Jeremy down on the dry grass and making a ‘silence’ motion with his fingers to his lips.

 

The asshole seemed to have understood and nodded, eyes tracking Miles as he floated once more towards the car. He watched as the journalist shifted, something dark and animalistic about his motions, and watched as he easily commanded the nanites to do his bidding, overtaking the man soundlessly and without his knowledge. All that was left was the earpiece that he had on earlier, which Miles placed on his ear to listen in on the conversations going on.

 

Taking it as he queue to get up, Jeremy did just that and snuck up closer to the other male as he opened the vehicle, unlocking Jeremy’s door and opening it for him.

 

“One...” he mouthed, looking at the dark haired man slipping into his seat.

 

“Two.” Miles and Jeremy both heard the questions on the earpiece, and the sounds of footsteps beginning to go outside, the call for ‘Henley’s not responding! To his position!’ ringing out clear as day.

 

“Three!” he shouted as both Jeremy and himself slammed their doors shut, the engine roaring to life. Immediately, Miles put the car in reverse, the motion smooth and fluid, just like the car itself, and they were driving backwards without Miles taking his—once again—orange eyes focused on the small troop rushing towards them, guns aimed.

 

“Quick, get down!” he barked out in command, making the nanites force Jeremy’s chair back almost flat—he was pretty sure the other man had just broken the seat—before a barrage of bullets began hitting the windows. Luckily, the reinforced material seemed to be holding out fairly well, considering they were only casually cracking it.

 

Once they cleared out the stone gates of the asylum, Miles hit the breaks, making the car swerve around in a beautifully enthralling curve that made their stomachs feel like they were floating, before he shifted the gear into forward and hit the pedal. They speed off with the purr of the engine, and the dark haired males seat was righted once more, clicking into place. So they could fix the car, that meant Miles wasn’t far off with the idea of being able to repair a trashed junker.

 

Focusing on the man beside him, he could see him fading in and out, the swarm buzzing louder and louder until suddenly—

 

There was the was nothing but the deafening sound of an explosion behind them and the bright orange light that shone in the background seemed to almost match the reporters eyes. He could feel the heat from the blow as well as the shockwave of it, hands clutching the armrest of the car weakly.

 

“Holy...”

 

“Fuck, that was amazing! Did you see that? Holy shit! I should have recorded it!” cried out Miles in elation, eyes green once more, and the buzzing only a soft sound. Jeremy was still reeling from it all. One moment he was dying and the next he was suddenly helping out some insane smallfry journalist turned angel of redemption.

 

“Holy shit, wait till I tell Park. He’s going to shit his pants.”

 

Miles continued on, fiddling with the dials in the car, the sound of music beginning to fill their ears, the other sound only being the transmitter radio to the car, asking about what the fuck was that spike in the ‘target zone’.

 

“You better get some shut eye, cause this is only the beginning.”

 

Hearing those words made Jeremy groan and crank up the radio, if only to forget the fact he was now involved in the destruction of the very company that had promised him a life of luxury. Fucking. Fabulous.

 

 

He hated Waylon Park so fucking much.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as you noticed, this actually has mentions of a bunch of games in it. I thought it would be interesting to tie them all in as a form of getting the companies out there all over the place.
> 
> So here's my compiled notes on what's happening.
> 
> 1\. Umbrella Corp: So Resident Evil gets tied in via the vaccines that turn people into zombies instead. Whether I'll use it or not i the actual continuation, I've got no idea. I'll actually have to brush up on my Resident Evil--the games--knowhow.
> 
>  
> 
> 2\. Within Unlimited: Is actually a mention for Psychobreak/The Evil Within. I didn't think the game was good, only because it answered absolutely nothing, the pacing was shit, and the overall game world wasn't well developed, but it had slight promise. I did love the main characters of Sebastian Castellanos and Joseph Oda though, so I thought I'd give a nod to the game. 
> 
> 3\. Silent Hill: I wanted the town included so badly, I love Silent Hill, especially the character of Pyramid Head. The idea that those twisted monsters that come to life in the town being caused by the Morphogenic Engine was just too enticing. Again, I don't know whether I'll actually be going to the town or not in this fic, but if it happens, you can bet your caps I'll be using characters from the game.
> 
> 4\. Geshwalt: There's actually a spanish company named Gesvalt that's an asset holding, and evaluation company, but be not confused. That's not what Iintended when using Geshwalt. It's actually derived from the German word Gestalt--which means form or shape--and also Gestalt Psychology.
> 
>  
> 
> I used this as the overall nod to the new Outlast that will be coming out sometime this Fall. Considering I know little about it, like that it's got influence from the Jonestown massacre. So I just rolled with it. This one, well, this part will probably be a later one. I'd rather wait for the game to come out than to type blindly for it.
> 
>  
> 
> 5\. Project Zero: My nod to Fatal Frame. Using the two sisters as the overall creators of this tormented project just felt right. I actually mean to tie it in along with the game 'Demento/Haunting Ground' and use the actual location of it as the main base of operation and how these two girls get their resources.
> 
>  
> 
> 6\. Red Rose Orphanage: This is my shout out to Rule of Rose, a very unique game that I adore with all my heart. There's such great depth to the story, music, and world--that I couldn't help but incorperate it into this fic. Definitely the place to start, If I'm going to continue this piece on another time.
> 
>  
> 
> 7\. P.T.: The codename for Silent Hills. Miles gives his deepest regrets on the cancellation of it.
> 
>  
> 
> 8\. Moody Blues: The name of a 'Stand' character from the anime Jojo's Bizarre Adventure Part IV: Vento Aureo. It's also the name of 'The Moody Blues' Band. 
> 
> \--
> 
> There you have it. There are links to the wikis for the games and references in the fic, so feel free to check them out to understand mroe about the references if you'd like. I'm hoping that whoever reads this enjoys the heck out it. Thanks so much for taking the time. Tell me what you think in the comments, ok?
> 
> Any feedback is appreciated.


	8. Update Schedule

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'll be deleting this but I just wanted to state my update schedule for those who read this fic still, and will continue reading it/start reading it!

So this is just basically a rough about my update schedule for this fic, just to kinda keep myself collected and help out those fans who still read this/will read this!

  
**Date:**

 

 

  * Chapter 8: The boss and the Reporter.  
**Idea** : Miles and Jeremy are always at eachothers throat whenever the reporter comes to the asylum to check up on Waylon. Seriously, they should both get a room though, because Way's tired of their bullshit makeouts. (Branch off from the chapter: The Groom, the Wife, and the Boss.)  
  
**Date:** 09/15  
  

  * Chapter 9: Run from me Darling (Part II)  
Idea: Continuation of the chapter Run from me Darling.  
  
**Date:** 09/28  
  

  * Chapter 10: Black Water  
**Idea** : AU where Eddie's still a serial killer, but he's free, and he's stalking the most beautiful prey he's ever seen--Waylon Park. He's going to make that beautiful siren his, no matter what.  
  
**Date:** 10/15  
  
  




There you have it folks! A schedule of the posts I'm going to make! Hopefully work will allow me to stick to it strictly, but I'll never pass four days after the initial date marked! I promise!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your patience, FYI!


End file.
